lity, and heartlessness,
tempered now and then by a flash of good-nature and sympathetic
attraction which were the mere outcomes of youth and physical
health--no more. This was the man I had loved--this fellow who told
coarse stories only worthy of a common pot-house, and who reveled in a
wit of a high and questionable flavor; this conceited, empty-headed,
muscular piece of humanity was the same being for whom I had cherished
so chivalrous and loyal a tenderness! Our conversation was broken in
upon at last by the sound of approaching wheels. A carriage was heard
ascending the road--it came nearer--it stopped at the door. I set down
the glass of wine I had just raised to my lips, and looked at Ferrari
steadily.

"You expect other visitors?" I inquired.

He seemed embarrassed, smiled, and hesitated.

"Well--I am not sure--but--" The bell rang. With a word of apology
Ferrari hurried away to answer it. I sprung from my chair--I knew--I
felt who was coming. I steadied my nerves by a strong effort. I
controlled the rapid beating of my heart; and fixing my dark glasses
more closely over my eyes, I drew myself up erect and waited calmly. I
heard Ferrari ascending the stairs--a light step accompanied his
heavier footfall--he spoke to his companion in whispers. Another
instant--and he flung the door of the studio wide open with the haste
and reverence due for the entrance of a queen. There was a soft rustle
of silk--a delicate breath of perfume on the air--and then--I stood
face to face with my wife!

CHAPTER XIV.

How dazzlingly lovely she was! I gazed at her with the same bewildered
fascination that had stupefied my reason and judgment when I beheld her
for the first time. The black robes she wore, the long crape veil
thrown back from her clustering hair and mignonne face, all the somber
shadows of her mourning garb only served to heighten and display her
beauty to greater advantage. A fair widow truly! I, her lately deceased
husband, freely admitted the magnetic power of her charms! She paused
for an instant on the threshold, a winning smile on her lips; she
looked at me, hesitated, and finally spoke in courteous accents:

"I think I cannot be mistaken! Do I address the noble Conte Cesare
Oliva?"

I tried to speak, but could not. My mouth was dry and parched with
excitement, my throat swelled and ached with the pent-up wrath and
despair of my emotions. I answered her question silently by a formal
bow. She at